She's on Fire
by Nattle Sage
Summary: It's not enough to want the truth. You must know where to look for it. And the truth is elusive because it knows where to hide.
1. Chapter 1

The story is set after ep.1.17 "Bad dreams" and takes a new perspective in uncovering the Pattern. Ideally, this is going to be a series of episodes focused of our favorite characters and their struggle to find out the truth.

FRINGE

Ep.01 "She's on fire"

Warehouse District

It was way past midnight. The air was tingling with midwinter frost. The street was absolutely deserted. In this part of Boston people knew better then wander at this time of the night. It was a working district with a string of dilapidated buildings of warehouses and abandoned offices. The only flickering light came from the half broken streetlamp, so old that it was shot with dull and unnaturally reddish glow.

The girl came out from the utter darkness staggering down the uneven road, swinging as if heavily drunk. She was trembling uncontrollably, shivering from head to toe, constantly rubbing on her left hand. Her deathly pale face was sweated, frozen into the mask of horror, glazed eyes rolled madly without a trace of comprehension. The high hills didn't allow her to move faster and she stumbled and almost tripped over but managed to balance herself. A low growl came from deep inside her throat as the itching in her hand became more and more intense, almost painful.

Finally she stopped and rolled up the sleeve of her black coat gasping at the sight of her hand. The itching area of her arm was nastily crimson and the skin was pumping up as if burnt. For a second it seemed to her that something was moving underneath her skin, but she shook her head furiously in a vain attempt to clear her blazing and fogged mind. The itching became even more excruciating, so that she started to rub her hand with the maniacal intensity, drawing blood from the affected area and hurried along the street towards the only source of dull light.

"NO, no, no, no, no," those words sounded like thunder in the dead silence of the night. It was a prayer, spoken in a hysterical, harsh voice that she couldn't recognize as hers anymore. The panic was overwhelming and though she was trying to contain it, it was breaking through, spilling from every sell of her body, submerging her consciousness.

The only thing that she now could focus on was the terrible flaming feeling in her left arm. She started scrubbing more and more ardently, scrapping skin and flesh. The blood was now streaking down her arm, but she didn't seem to register that, continuing the feverish movements to ease that irresistible urge that was driving her insane. She shook off her coat and peered into her injured hand. A howl of panic echoed across the deserted streets. There was something there, down in her hand, it was moving – the black dots, little living beings, they were moving rapidly, making her hand burn with pain. The girl tried to shook them off, but they continued their chaotic motion underneath her skin, in her flesh. She tried to grab them, scratch them away, but there were thousands of them. Horrified, she started to tear off the flesh, oblivious to the amount of blood she was loosing. The blood was everywhere – it was streaking down her legs and gathered in a little crimson puddle on the cold concrete.

For the moment it looked as if those little things just disappeared. Has she scratched off all of them? The pain slowly made its way into her consciousness. She looked down at her hand and broke into sobs from both agonizing pain and the horrifying sight. Her hand was almost fleshless, despite it was covered with blood and the scraps of tissue, she could see the bone. Howling, she tried to unwind the scarf from her neck and wrap it around her injured hand.

Suddenly, the itching returned. The same blazing sensation now traveled down her chest. The girl tore the front of her white blouse as the itching got stronger. Those black moving dots again! She plunged her nails deep into the flesh and tore it off, willing to do anything to stop them. She screamed and screamed until her voice was horse with the strain, as the itching continued now in her right arm and legs and soon it was all over her body. She was rubbing and scratching and scrapping, tearing her flesh and screeching, sinking in the pool of her own blood.

The old streetlamp flickered two more times and went dead, plunging the street into complete darkness.

* * *

The night was unnaturally dark. Even the moon seemed to be undercover, hiding behind the clouds. The raven-haired woman was cautiously making her way through the deserted park. She was wearing the little black cocktail dress and black high-hills and seemed quiet out of place. With practiced grace she was crouching down, trying to be as soundless as possible.

Nearby, behind the thick bushes, some voices could be heard. She sneaked closer to get a glimpse of the clearing. The little amount of light from the moon allowed her to see the two men standing not far from her hiding place. She couldn't see their faces, but from what she could hear one of them was a Latino and the other spoke with a heavy German accent. It looked like they were arguing over something.

"We have to be careful, someone is already sneaking around." It was a Latino guy, his voice held an edge of nervousness.

"Don't fret, anyone who could've known anything is either dead or insane and kept in a secure place." The German sounded very self-assured, almost smug.

"Still, are you sure we'll be able to contain it? What about 14/11? When will it be completed?" The Latino asked agitated, undoubtedly feeling uneasy being alone with the other man. Actually he looked like he'd better be anywhere else but here.

"You don't have to worry about that. Do you job and don't stick your nose around…Did you bring her?"

"Yep, she was a hard case, it took time to calm her down." The Latino spitted to the ground, distaste clearly seen in his posture. Before he could say anything else another man appeared on the clearing, dragging something with him. Whatever it was, it was restrained by metal chains, a sack covering its head. It was human, Emma thought, but the sounds it was making were so animalistic that it was hard to believe a man could produce them.

"Careful, she's been wild for some time, we gave 'er lot ef sedatives, but nothn' works with this one," the man nodded towards the captive who continued to writhe, trying to get rid of the sack.

"Show her," the German ordered, considerately taking some steps back. The man shrugged and lifted the sack off her head.

In the bushes, Emma gasped in horror at what she saw. Even with the little amount of light, she could make the greenish putrid skin, coming off in some places, the soggy scabs and lesions on once perfectly smooth skin. Once gorgeous long honey brown hair was now sweaty and stuck to the disfigured face. But it were the eyes that horrified Emma most. They were two black dots, rowing madly without any recognition, without any trace of other emotions but animalistic desire to slay. Emma shuddered from head to toe, _No, it just can't be her, it just can't be!_

"Good, we should see if she is really ready," The impassive voice of the German, made Emma snap back to the action on the clearing. He came closer and peered closely at the creature that once was a beautiful and attractive woman. After a moment of consideration, he ordered her jailer to take off the restrains. The man looked hesitant for a moment, but it was clear that the German was the one to be obeyed and reluctantly unclasped one of the chains. Before anyone could understand what happened, the woman gave an inhuman roar and jumped on the stout man. In a second, her teeth sunk deep into his skin, tearing off the throat, as she was savoring the taste of human flesh and blood.

Emma cried out, not caring if anyone would hear her. She started to run not seeing her way, trying to get as far away from what she witnessed as she could. The image was still playing on and on in her head. She couldn't care less if she was followed, in panic she didn't pay any attention to where she was running. Suddenly, she collided with something and gave a started cry. Her trained brain instinctively registered that it was a man she smacked into, snapping her into practiced action. Jumping away, she pointed her gun at him.

"Don't move!" In the darkness she couldn't see his face, but he stopped and raised his hands, showing her he was no threat. She was still panicking, hyperventilating with the shock of what she witnessed in the bushes, but the cold metal of her gun gave her the reassurance and confidence she needed. "Who are you?"

"It's ok, come down, I'm with the FBI," The man put his hands down slowly, pointing at the ID card on his coat. Emma breathed out a sigh of relief, while all that occurred came down crushing on her.

"Are you here alone? Where are the others? We need to call the back up, fast, they have Manny…" she whispered feverishly, looking at him with pleading eyes. Ok, even if the back up didn't come, there were two of them they can take those bastards down. She was too disoriented and too frightened to notice that special glimpse in his eyes and deliberate slowness of his every gesture.

"You wouldn't need that," the voice was perfectly controlled. "We are too late, we can't help her."

"NO, we need to get her out!" Emma shook her head in indignation. Suddenly, all the powers left her as she was struggling with the strangling panic, trying to even her breath. _Why can't he understand, we need to help Manny…oh, God, Manny…_She barely registered that he came closer to her and was saying something, but only one thought was crossing her mind over and over again.

"Please, we need to help her…", it sounded more of the plea. He gently took the gun that was still clasped in her hand, repeating the same words, "It's too late, it's over." He tried to sooth her, his voice too calm and controlled for the situation like that. _What the hell?_ Emma's brain suddenly snapped back into reality. With crystal clarity she took in all that was going on. The understanding dawned on her and she took a step back.

"Oh, no. You are one of them." It wasn't a question. Her voice shook no more; in fact it was cold and collected.

"Now, Emma, how many times do they have to tell you not to get into the business that is not your concern?" The smirk was in his voice. Emma backed away again, until her back hit the trunk of the tree. "You don't have anywhere to run, Parker. For such a smart girl you are incredibly stupid. You two messed with something that is too grand for your understanding. And now, Parker, that would be a real loss."

"Who the hell are you?" she spat indignantly, fury clearly written on her often controlled face. In a swift motion he grabbed her by the throat and in the moonlight she saw his once handsome face contorted with anger and fury. The pressure on her windpipe was so hard that sparkles danced before her eyes. His face came into the focus as he smiled wickedly, two words whispered distinctly right into her ear: "John Scott".

* * *

Emma Parker awoke with a jolt, gasping for air. Looking around panicky she understood she still was in a cheap motel room in the outskirts of Boston. Making several deep calming breaths she tried to persuade herself that it was just the worst of her nightmares. It was still dark outside, the clock on her nightstand read 5.35. She tried to subdue the breathing as she run a hand over her throat. That dream again. She shook her head, getting rid of the last remains of her nightmare and got up. Dressing up swiftly, Emma entered the bathroom. Turning on a faucet with cold water she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dark shadows lay under her eyes, her black hair hung lifelessly, she was so worn out. Shaking her head again she took a handful of water and splashed her face, before turning and grabbing a bottle of prescribed medication. Downing two pills instead of one, she returned to the living-room, grabbed her gun from the bedside cabinet and put it in the back of her black jeans, put on a black jacket, grabbed the keys and went out of the room.

* * *

That's only the prologue, hopefully the first chapter would follow soon. Please review and let me know what you think about it!


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi guys! I'm alive and inclined to continue the story! This is the second chapter and hopefully soon you'll see the third one!!!! Im' fully open to you critique and suggestions, so please leave your reviews!_

* * *

_Warehouse District_

Peter Bishop parked their old car near the Federal black and shining Subaru. The place looked really creepy even in the bright morning light. It was that district in Boston that held a number of hangars and warehouses. Peter knew very well that such places were popular with the serious guys like Eddy and the gangs usually took it as a meeting place - certainly not a place to wander. The FBI teams have already taped the whole place, forensic experts swamping over the site, carrying metal crime lab suitcases. Everyone was too preoccupied, too energetic for such an unholy hour. Peter's observations were interrupted by the grunting Walter, as he tried to get out of the car with a large metal case tightly clasped in his hands. The case, it seemed, didn't want to yield, only provoking Walter into tugging it harder. Peter rolled his eyes at the old man's antics.

"Walter, we are here just to take a peek at the scene. You shouldn't have brought half of the lab with you, you know."

"Nonsense, son," Walter grumbled, finally taking over the offensive case. "I like to always be prepared. Which I cannot say about you."

Peter only shook his head helplessly and moved towards Olivia Dunham, who was waiting for them patiently behind the yellow crime scene tape.

"Hi, how's life? Nice place to start ones morning, isn't it?" He said sarcastically, sending her his trademark grin.

"Nice to see you both in good disposition," she smiled back, wrapping her scarf closer to her throat. It was early morning and the icy wind was chilling her to the bone as well as the sight of the body she had to examine. "Hello, Walter," Olivia sent a small smile to the scientist who was already deep into conversation with some forensic expert.

"Ah, Olivia," whatever he was discussing previously was immediately forgotten as the older Bishop turned to regard the blond agent. "May I remark that you look absolutely charming today and I…"

"Walter!" Peter cut his father off before he could say anything embarrassing enough. "Let's get straight to the business, shall we?" Olivia nodded solemnly and made her way to where Charlie Francis was giving his instructions to the junior agents. The two Bishops followed, with Peter wondering just why it seemed like the whole weight of the world was on their shoulders.

"One of the hangar owners saw the body and called 911 at around 5 a.m.," Olivia rushed into explanations, guiding them towards the front line. The brigade of M.E. and forensic experts parted as soon as they saw . "He was close to hysterics, saying something about the terrible state the body was in, but we weren't quiet prepared to see exactly that." They came closer so that Peter could take a look at what got the FBI agents so bewildered. It took all his self control not to throw up just there. In his long enough life Peter could boast that he had seen enough of crap: bodies, disfigured so that it was impossible to recognize and so on. But never before he had seen such a mess of flesh and blood and bones. For a moment it seemed it wasn't even a human being, just a hip of meat, but then he caught a glimpse of red long locks and black coat that was now soaked with blood. With dread he realized that it was a woman.

"That is the most interesting!" Walter exclaimed before kneeling to the ground next to the body. He poked and prodded the flesh, until Peter felt truly sick and turned away to look anywhere but his father doing the job. He gave Olivia a side glance – she too was looking away, more pale then usually. Peter felt a pang of guilt – after what happened to Nick Lane and the discovery of Cortexiphan she wasn't exactly given the time to come to her senses. And now, what a perfect way to go back to work!

Charlie strode up to them, curtly nodding to Peter and the older Bishop. Even he did look worn out.

"The victim didn't have any ID with her, so the forensics say only DNA analyses could help to identify the body, then again if she's in the database," Charlie looked closely to Olivia, who was standing strangely aloof, but he knew very well that this very time thousands of thoughts were rushing in her mind. "Liv, you ok?" He asked concern clearly written on his face. She seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in and gave him a half smile.

"Yeah, I'm perfectly fine, don't worry. Do you have the time of the death?"

"The M.E. supposed it happened somewhere between two and three a.m. The closer examination will show…"

"WELL," Walter turned from the victim to glance at the three of them. "I'd say it's the most peculiar. The wounds, if only we could call them so, were no doubt self inflicted." Peter looked at his father incredulously.

"Wait, you mean to say that she did that to herself, like, willingly?"

"Yes, son!" Walter answered smugly, as if he just won the Noble Prize. "And she was a strong girl, I might add. Most would've died much earlier with all the loss of blood."

"Why would anyone do that to oneself?" Olivia asked skeptically.

"Ah, that is a very good question, agent Dunham. And I could answer it only if you'll send the body to the lab, that is." Olivia nodded and gave the sign to the M.E. assistants to pack the body. While they all moved in to the cars, Charlie grabbed Olivia's hand and walked her aside. His eyes burned deeply into hers as he tried to read her mind.

"Hey, Broyles wanted to see us as soon as possible. If that's about Nick Lane's database…"

"Don't worry, Charlie, I'll got it all covered," Olivia replied confidently, sensing his uneasiness. Agent Francis gave her a skeptical look, but didn't say anything as he moved to his own SUV.

* * *

_Federal Building._

The Bureau was busting with agents, who were already alerted to the new case. As Olivia strode to the atrium she could see that everyone from senior officer to the computer men didn't have enough sleep if any. She suddenly wondered how they were keeping up, when she was ready to collapse with both physical and emotional exhaustion. The agents were bustling in and out, making phone calls, typing away on computers, trying to wring out any information they could get.

She glanced to her right only to find Charlie standing with the group of junior agents, giving orders to check through the police reports, missing people, fixing up the DNA analyses and identifying procedure. He also looked warn out, but then again weren't they all? After they'd faced something they were not prepared to, they only tried to keep the calm appearance, but Olivia knew better then others that everyone was as baffled and lost as she was. God, how she wanted to go back to the times when she knew nothing of that, where there was no Fringe division, no Cortexiphan, no unexplainable and surrealistic deaths….

She shook her head stubbornly, trying to get all those depressing thoughts out of her mind and concentrate on the case at hand. After all that was her job. In the corner of her eye she noticed agent Broyles pacing restlessly in his office. He strolled to his computer, a deep frown creased his forehead. After scanning some data he grabbed his phone and dialed the unknown number his fingers drumming on the panel in pure agitation.

Secretly wishing that was the best time to approach, Olivia made up her mind and went straight to his office.

As she entered Broyles was all but screaming into the receiver, by the look of him he was ready but murder whoever was on the other end. His eyes flicked over to her, making a haste sign to wait and turned to the window, the receiver clasped in his hand so tight, Olivia thought it might snap in two pieces.

"I don't think it's your greatest idea, sir! Considering her past experience…. I don't need more troubles that we already have." He paused listening to the voice on the other end.

"This doesn't suggest anything at all! After all we are talking about the high level of security." Another pause. Broyles looked exasperated and angered beyond words.

"Fine. But you seriously suppose she would take the proposal? Now it's really going to be a mad house! Two psychos in the team? Why not to just go and dig ourselves five feet under? That would save us time….Yes…Yes, ok…I suppose I don't have to remind you that in case something would go wrong I don't want to take the responsibility of that?" Another pause, during which Olivia battled with the strong desire to slip out of the office, not wanting to confront the pissed off boss.

"I need to get an interview with her then, see if she's able to behave at least semi normal. I still think that's the worst idea ever." He hung up the phone not waiting for the answer and turned to Olivia, letting out a deep breath.

"Rough day?" She asked softly, feeling some kind of sympathy towards her boss. After all, it was he who received all the kicks from the government for everything that they did.

"As usual. Some bureaucratic dispute," Agent Broyles turned his full attention to her then, "What do you have?"

"We are trying to id the victim, Charlie's on it. I'm going to the lab to see if Doctor Bishop has any progress." She paused, once again reminded why did she came here in the first place. However she wasn't entirely sure she should bring the subject just now. Broyles raised a brow at her hesitation, internally feeling her faltering.

"Anything else, Dunham?"

She took a deep breath, gathering all her thoughts together: it's now or never.

"Yes…I wanted to ask, sir… All those cases that Nick Lane was collecting…We need to check on them. We need to find people who were treated with Cortexiphan before something like that will happen again."

"Dunham," Agent Broyles held up a hand to stop her from further arguments. Heaving a long suffering sigh, as if already expecting something like that, he continued ignoring her silent protest. "Dunham…How do you imagine that possible? Are you suggesting us going and checking all the children who lived in both Massachusetts and Jacksonville? It's practically impossible, not talking about it would blow off our cover," he sighed again, seeing her frustrated face, before continuing in much softer father-like voice. "I understand what you want, and believe me, I also wish to stop those things, but the only person who can spread light on this is currently suffering from the memory loss or so he says. And until he remembers anything, I suggest you get down to the case at hand." He turned his back on her, showing that the conversation was over. Olivia was furious at how simply he dismissed her, but at the same time she couldn't but admit that there was truth behind his words. Trying to suppress her frustration she uttered a quiet "Yes sir", and walked out of the door, leaving her boss alone. Going downstairs, Olivia Dunham couldn't suppress the feeling that something was bound to happen, something worse than the case of the current victim.


End file.
